Dakota Born (19 page)

“This is just incredible.” Lindsay couldn't help repeating herself.

“Rachel? Lindsay?” A male voice called to them from the lobby.

“It's Heath,” Rachel said to Lindsay.

Lindsay watched her friend carefully and saw how she struggled to hide the telltale burst of excitement at the sound of Heath's voice. She'd wondered about the two of them—particularly since Heath seemed to be lingering at the café whenever she went in to pick up a pizza—and that had been easily half a dozen times. Now she was convinced something was going on between them.

“In here,” Rachel called out.

Heath Quantrill pushed back the entrance curtain and paused in the doorway. “Mark said I'd find you at the theater. I stopped by the café on my way home for a pizza.” He glanced at Lindsay. “I realize it's a bit early, but I hoped you'd be open.”

“Oh,” Rachel said, sounding flustered, “I am open—well, sort of. I'll be right there—as soon as Lindsay and I are finished in here.”

“Take your time,” Heath said, joining the two women. “What are you doing, anyway?”

Lindsay explained and he nodded, but made no comment.

“I know it needs a lot of work,” she murmured.

“That's an understatement,” he said. “But I assume you have plenty of volunteers.”

“Yes—I hope so, anyway.” She'd talked to Joshua McKenna about giving the theater a face-lift, and he'd promised to discuss it with the town council. Lindsay would need all the volunteers she could get. But her guess was that Gage Sinclair wouldn't be among them. It amazed—and disturbed—her how much she missed him.

She hadn't heard
from
him in weeks, but she'd heard plenty
about
him from a number of sources. Both Hassie and Leta had taken it upon themselves to drop his name into casual conversation as often as possible. Lindsay wasn't fooled. She knew matchmaking when she heard it, and suspected Gage was getting an earful about her, too. But if they were going to establish some kind of friendship, she supposed it would have happened before now. That was her fault as well as his. She might not be Dakota-born like Gage, but she could be just as stubborn.

“My grandmother used to love this theater,” Heath said. “I remember hearing stories about it when I was a kid.”

“I wonder if your grandmother and mine used to go to the movies here together?” Rachel asked on a wistful note.

“How about your grandfather and my grandmother coming here on a date?”

Rachel laughed. “That would've been something.”

“Their grandchildren just might.”

Rachel went speechless at the suggestion, and Lindsay sympathized with her discomfort. From what Hassie had told her, Rachel hadn't dated since her husband's death.

“You'd better get over to the café and work your miracles with the pizzas,” Lindsay suggested, hoping to give her a way out. “Otherwise you might lose customers.”

“Mark will let me know once the phone starts ringing,” Rachel assured her, still flustered.

No sooner had she spoken than her son barreled into the theater. “Mom, Mom,” he shouted, then stopped, apparently awestruck. “Hey, this place is cool.” He grinned as he gazed around the theater. “Hi, Miss Snyder. Hi, Mr. Quantrill. Hey, you got two orders, Mom. Calla told me to come get you.”

“Two orders!” Rachel was jubilant.

“Three,” Heath corrected. “Remember mine. I'm going to visit my grandmother this evening and thought I'd bring dinner with me. She'll get a kick out of eating a slice of Buffalo Valley's own pizza.”

“When you've got a chance, make me a medium sausage and black olive,” Lindsay told her. “I'll be by to pick it up when I'm through here.”

A few minutes later, the others had left. Lindsay stayed on for a while, savoring the feel of the place, anticipating its return to glory with the students' production.

She flicked off the lantern and tucked the flashlights in her pockets. Then she locked the door and turned back toward Hassie's. She came to an abrupt standstill when she saw Gage Sinclair.

He was in his pickup, heading down Main Street. The joy that had risen inside her only minutes earlier evaporated. Silently she watched as he pulled into an empty parking space near Buffalo Bob's and climbed out of the truck's cab. He glanced casually around.

Lindsay didn't move when his gaze came to rest on her. She resisted the urge to greet him with a wave. Their eyes held for a long while as if he, too, felt tempted to acknowledge her. Then he slowly turned his back and walked away.

Once more, Lindsay experienced a feeling of unaccountable loss. He would have made a good friend.

R
achel was genuinely satisfied with the success of her pizza venture. She'd been in operation for only two months, and was already showing a profit. With the disastrous news of low grain prices, she'd been afraid her business wouldn't stand a chance.

It helped that people like Heath Quantrill routinely ordered from her, and Lindsay Snyder, too. Hassie and Sarah had turned into good customers, as well. The second Saturday in November she'd sold a record fifteen pizzas. For the first time since Ken's death, she felt hopeful about the future.

Even with the profit from Buffalo Valley Pizza, Rachel continued to work on Hassie's books two mornings a week. She suspected Hassie was perfectly capable of handling her own accounts, but she enjoyed her time with the older woman. And, of course, the extra income was a help.

Rachel considered Hassie a blessing to the community and, in fact, to the entire county. People went out of their way to shop at Knight's Pharmacy because Hassie dispensed far more than prescription drugs. They were drawn to her because of her optimism; she inspired and encouraged them. They came to her for medical advice, as well, and she wasn't shy about steering folks to a physician when she felt one was needed.

“Rachel.” Hassie stepped into the back room where Rachel pored over the ledgers. “I'm afraid I'm feeling a bit under the weather this morning.”

Hassie did look pale. “The flu bug got you?” Mark had missed two days of school the week before because of a virus.

“That's what it feels like.” She blew her nose with a honking sound that made Rachel smile despite her sympathy. “I'd better follow the advice I've been giving everyone else—go home and take care of myself.”

“That sounds wise to me.”

“I'll need to close the pharmacy.” She coughed from deep inside her chest.

“Oh, Hassie, you sound wretched. Now listen, there's no need to close the store until I have to leave to drive the school bus,” Rachel said. She was eager to show her appreciation for all Hassie had done to help her. “I'd be more than happy to stay. People who need prescriptions filled will have to wait, of course, but anything else I can do.”

Hassie's look was hesitant, but relieved. “You're sure it wouldn't be too much of a problem?”

“Positive.”

“That would be wonderful. I'm expecting a delivery sometime today that has to be signed for. If you can deal with that, I'd be grateful.” She brought her hand to her forehead as though to test for a fever. “I'll be fine in no time,” she mumbled, obviously wanting to convince herself as much as Rachel.

“Is there anything I can get for you?” Rachel offered, escorting Hassie to the door.

“Not a thing.” That was followed by another hacking cough.

“Well, call me if you need anything.” Rachel watched her cross the street and then round the corner. She sincerely hoped it
was
just a touch of the flu and not something more serious. Buffalo Valley couldn't afford to lose Hassie Knight. She was the glue that held them together.

Rachel was surprised by the number of customers, considering that this was a weekday morning. By noon she'd waited on more than a dozen people, all of whom asked about Hassie.

There seemed to be a lull following lunch. Rachel had returned to working on the books when the bells above the door chimed, alerting her to a customer's arrival.

She left the back room to find Heath Quantrill. “Heath!” she greeted him delightedly. “Hello.” At his insistence, she'd dropped the Mr. Quantrill months ago. Heath had actually become a friend, and she still found that somehow astonishing. At first he'd intimidated her and she'd felt awkward and ill at ease around him, but gradually that had changed. He regularly came in for pizza, and while she knew hers was good, he could probably get equally good pizza at home in Grand Forks. One Friday, soon after she'd opened, they'd talked for an hour over cups of coffee. Calla and Mark had been involved in a Monopoly game, and the phone had remained silent. That was the night he'd first mentioned his brother, and she'd told him about Ken. She understood his pain over Max's death and he seemed to understand hers. So often, especially since her family had moved, Rachel had simply brushed aside talk of her husband, brushed aside others' concern, rather than acknowledge the loss. But Heath empathized with the emptiness she felt, even the anger, because he, too, had been dealing with those emotions since Max's death.

No one needed to tell Rachel that she and Heath Quantrill were about as different as could be. She'd only left the state of North Dakota once, and that had been on her honeymoon. Heath had traveled all over the world. He was rich and sophisticated and could probably have any woman he wanted. A struggling widow with a child to support wasn't going to interest him. Still, Rachel had found him witty and clever, fascinating and, yes, she'd admit it, damned attractive. It probably wasn't a good idea to let herself think of him in those terms, but she couldn't help it.

Recently Lindsay had suggested that something romantic might be developing between them, but Rachel was quick to correct her. It was true he'd made that vague remark about the two of them going to the theater together, the same theater where their grandparents had once sat, but that was all it was: a vague remark.

“Rachel?” he said, obviously surprised. “Where's Hassie?”

“Home, probably in bed. She wasn't feeling well this morning.”

“So you're taking her place? I'm glad I came in.” He grinned as he said it, and she found herself blushing, wondering whether he really was pleased to see her there. “I don't suppose I could talk you into fixing me one of Hassie's sodas?” he asked.

She looked away. “Sure.” She suspected Heath had come to talk to Hassie, that he wanted some of the sensible advice Hassie served along with her famous sodas. Rachel also knew that Hassie and his grandmother, Lily Quantrill, were good friends.

“How about a strawberry soda?” Heath suggested.

“Coming right up.” She reached for a glass and an ice-cream scoop.

“I don't know Hassie all that well, and I've often wondered about her,” Heath commented absently.

“How do you mean?” Rachel glanced up from her task, her eyes meeting his.

“Well, for one thing, why does she have an American flag by the picture of her son? I've never heard anyone mention him.”

Rachel's hand stilled. “That's Vaughn. He was killed in Vietnam. Some people say Hassie changed after that. I was only a few months old at the time and I don't remember him, but my parents do. They say he was a good kid. My dad's views about the war changed after Vaughn was killed. Hassie keeps his picture out and the flag the Army gave her when they laid Vaughn to rest because she wants people to remember his sacrifice.”

“She doesn't talk about him, does she?”

“It's been nearly thirty years and it's still painful for her.”

Heath nodded but didn't touch the soda when she placed it on the counter. “Besides my grandmother, the only person I've talked to about Max is you.”

“If it wasn't for Hassie, I don't know what I would have done that first year after Ken died. Without her, I think I probably would've moved to Arizona with my parents. It does help to have someone listen.”

“I thank you for that,” Heath told her. “I was so mad at Max for dying and yet it makes perfect sense that he'd swerve to avoid hitting a deer. That's just the type of person Max was.”

The burning tears that filled her eyes were as unexpected as they were unwelcome. She knew his brother had been killed on the highway, but hadn't heard any of the details. She blinked in an effort to hold back her emotion, not wanting to embarrass herself in front of Heath.

He reached across the counter and stroked the side of her face. His touch was gentle, so gentle. Rachel closed her eyes and immediately the tears began to fall.

“I'm sorry,” he whispered. “I shouldn't be talking like this now.”

“No, no, it's fine. Usually I don't react like this. I'm sorry, I…” She didn't bother to finish what she'd been about to say.

Walking away from the counter, she grabbed a box of tissues from the shelf and opened it. She turned to discover Heath directly behind her.

“I shouldn't have brought up Max,” he said, staring down at her. “Especially since it reminds you of Ken.”

“No…no, it isn't that, really,” she said, a little breathless. He was close, closer than he'd ever been before, and her heart began to race.

He slid his arms around her. Rachel rested her hands on his chest and was amazed to discover that his heart was beating as fast as hers. Slowly—feeling confused and uncertain—she raised her eyes to his. Rachel knew she should pull away, end the embrace; at the same time, she hoped he'd kiss her.

It seemed that, along with all his other talents, Heath Quantrill was a mind reader. After the slightest hesitation, he lowered his mouth to hers.

At the approach of his lips, Rachel had the distinct feeling that if she allowed this to happen, if Heath actually kissed her, everything between them would change. Still, she didn't stop him. She hadn't dated since Ken's death. The thought of another relationship hadn't even occurred to her. And now…there was Heath.

Parting her lips, she stood on the tips of her toes, straining toward him. The kiss was tender, and as she'd known it would be, devastating.

He released her, and his look told her he was as confused and unsure as she was.

“I…I…”

He didn't let her finish. Instead, he kissed her again, and she responded with a greed that left her weak—and astonished. Her arms wound their way around his neck and she leaned against him. She felt his hands in her hair, his fingers tangling in its length.

When she dared to meet his eyes, she found them wide and bewildered.

“I know what you're thinking,” she whispered.

“I doubt it,” he returned with a short, abrupt laugh. “Because if you did your face would be beet-red.”

Rachel's cheeks instantly filled with heat. “I—I'm sure you didn't expect this to happen.”

“I didn't plan to kiss you when I came in here, if that's what you mean, but I'm not sorry about it.” His eyes narrowed. “Are you?”

She had trouble meeting his gaze, but told him with a small shake of her head that she wasn't.

Hugging her again, he sighed. “Good. This is a surprise, but a pleasant one. I'm thirty-one and long past the age of pretending. Let's always be honest with each other, Rachel.”

“Yes,” she whispered, her voice still quavering from the effects of their kiss.

“This is a beginning for us.”

She nodded, uncertain what he meant, but not needing clarification. Not then, not when his arms were warm and secure around her. If Ken's death had taught her anything, it was that the future held no guarantees.

 

As soon as Leta Betts heard that Hassie Knight had come down with the flu, she took a chicken from the freezer and made a big pot of her chicken noodle soup. Leta often worried about Hassie, who was well into her seventies. Over the last year, she'd noticed that Hassie's energy seemed to be slipping, and that concerned her. The soup was an excuse to visit her friend.

Gage was busy tinkering with some farm equipment when she found him. “Hassie's got a bad case of the flu,” she explained.

“She's tough. You don't need to worry about Hassie,” Gage said, glancing up from the tractor. His hands were smudged with grease. His task, whatever it was, seemed to be frustrating him.

“I was hoping you could drive me into town?” she asked.

Gage straightened and wiped the grease from his hands on a mechanic's pink rag. “Kevin can't do it?”

“He's busy at the school.”

She noticed Gage's frown at her mention of school and knew he was thinking about Lindsay Snyder again. He'd been doing that a lot. Gage might be able to fool other people and even himself, but she knew him far too well. He was interested in Lindsay Snyder, and whatever had happened between them had thrown him for a loop.

“I won't be finished here for a couple of hours,” he finally said.

“I'll be ready when you are.”

Two hours later, Gage came into the house, took a quick shower, then drove the car around. During the thirty-mile drive into town, Leta had plenty of time to think, not that it did her much good. She wished she knew of some way to help Gage resolve his feelings about Lindsay, but suspected any interference on her part wouldn't be welcome.

That matter was still on her mind when she arrived at Hassie's. Her friend, dressed in pajamas and robe, looked delighted to receive company. She opened the door and welcomed her inside.

“I'm telling you, Leta, I wasn't cut out for a life of leisure.” A half-empty box of tissues and a glass of orange juice stood on the coffee table.